Survive
by Nevermore's Shadow
Summary: (AU) Hermione Granger has been killed by the stare of the Basilisk. All of Hogwarts is in mourning, and Ginny Weasley finds herself more alone than ever, dealing with her immense guilt. (Shortfic)


**Survive**

 **by Nevermore's Shadow**

Ginny Weasley sat in the girl's bathroom, staring at her pale, trembling hands. She grit her teeth together hard, trying to end the torrent of tears that had been streaming down her face for what had to have been hours. Hogwarts was horribly quiet, as news of Hermione Granger's death spread throughout the school. Laying on the floor at her feet was the diary, that infernal thing that had led to all of this. It was her fault, all of it. If only she hadn't been so stupid as to fall under its spell. She had already thrown it, stomped on it, screamed at it until she was hoarse, but it still simply lay on the tile, just inches away from where she sat, taunting her, waiting for her still. If her brothers ever found out what she had done, it would all be over. She wondered if children were sent to Azkaban for such crimes, or if there was some sort of magical prison for misbehaving children. Her mother usually just threatened Fred and George that their father would end up having hell to pay if anything they did ever escalated. Ginny's breath caught in her throat. Her mother.

The flood began yet again, and she wailed, banging her head against the stone wall. Another girl slipped into the bathroom, not meeting Ginny's eyes as she did so. By now the entire school knew, and the girl probably just thought Ginny was grieving, like all of the other innocent children on the grounds. The girl, a blonde Ravenclaw, Ginny saw through a haze of tears, turned and looked at her for a moment curiously, but shuffled out just as quickly as she had entered. Her train of thought once again on track, Ginny thought of her mother and father. She couldn't bear the look of horror on her mother's face were she ever to find out that her precious only daughter was responsible for multiple petrifications, nevermind a death. It would destroy her utterly. Her father would have to answer to the Ministry, and would probably lose his job, which Ginny swore was unfair. It was her own fault. Her own damned, bloody, lonely fault that she was taken in by the kind words that came out of the journal.

Somewhere deep inside of her, she longed to feel the warmth that those words originally gave her. She stared at the journal a little while longer, then kicked it again, sending it skidding to the opposite wall, where it fell open, the quill that she had left inside sitting there, still glistening with ink, despite not having been dipped in an inkwell for several hours. She wanted to run, she wanted to hide. She wanted to do everything, even confess, if that would help, but she knew it wouldn't. Everything was over, ruined, unless she figured out a way to hide the truth from everyone. To just continue looking like she was a normal, everyday student. She needed help from someone clever. She thought of all of the Slytherins of her year, those with the most cunning, the types that could slither out of messes like this without a scratch, either physically or mentally, Ginny thought. Perhaps they weren't as sinister as she assumed, but the Slytherins she had met thus far had been somewhat cruel, and she could never go to any of them for help.

She did, however, know someone extremely cunning. Someone who could guide her and help her get out of this disaster she found herself in. Her entire body shuddered at the thought, but some force in the back of her brain drove her forward.

"Survive," it hissed, "move forward. Put this behind you and see what you are capable of."

She drew herself to her feet, feeling very light-headed, but not as vacant as she'd been when she found herself surrounded by bloody feathers. This was different, she was making this decision. She seized the damnable book from the floor and leaned against the wall, staring at the blank pages and the quill she held in her hand, dripping with ink like a knife drips with the blood of its victim. Ginny drew a few quick breaths before scribbling in the book.

"Tom, Hermione is dead and it's our fault... what do I do?"


End file.
